


The Cipher Service

by ARHitms_12569, Damare



Category: Gravity Falls, Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brief Underage, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Codenames, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Explicit Language, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARHitms_12569/pseuds/ARHitms_12569, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damare/pseuds/Damare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Damare's Kingsman AU.</p><p>-----</p><p>The three men looked towards their fallen teammate, crestfallen expressions worn standardly, just like their uniforms. Bill observed with bated breath, waiting for something. A blink, a puff of breath, a rise and fall of his chest - anything that would have indicated that the kid was still alive and well. But nothing came. The young man remained unnaturally still, blood trickling from the corner of his pale lips, and were it not for his eyes, still open and glazed over, he might have looked peacefully and blissfully asleep.</p><p> <br/>“I’ll take care of this mess, personally.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cipher Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Damare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damare/gifts).



Prologue

 

\-----

 

The only sound in the helicopter cabin was the loud chugging of the propellers and the rushing of wind, chilled by their altitude, through the open doors. If the four men inside did not have the use of their radio equipment, it would have been damn near impossible to hear anything they tried to say. Not that any of them had any interest in saying anything. The tension that came along with this new mission weighed down heavily on all of them.

 

For months, their agency had been tracking the movements of the infamous, but highly secretive, Blind Eye Society. It was only recently, however, that they had been brought to light about their plan to achieve world domination by systematically wiping the minds of every person on Earth through the use of their patented memory-guns and government satellites. Their mission was to go in, locate the leader of the Blind Eye Society, take him down and get out as soon as possible. Simple, but highly risky and highly stressful.

 

Every team member had a different way of showing off their anxiety, and despite each of them concealed under layers of commonplace, dark and heavy clothing, Bill Cipher could tell them each apart by their nervous ticks and mannerisms.

 

Stanford Pines, or Merlin as his team referred to him, busied himself with their guns and other equipment. Bill couldn’t keep track of how many times the six-fingered man had double, triple and even quadruple checked their ammo stocks. Merlin’s trainee, Fiddleford McGucket, sat hunched over, tapping his knees in rhythmic fashion. From what Bill knew about the greenhorn, the beat most likely belonged to a fast-paced banjo number. They were both being very subtle, and he reminded himself to congratulate them both later on their discretion. Or perhaps they only seemed subtle compared to the man that sat across from him.

 

Tyrone Pines - Bill’s own trainee - normally such a calm and collected candidate, was now currently chewing fervently on the end of a pen and picking at the corners of an old photo in his hands while his leg bounced up and down on the floor of the cabin. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew this mission was dangerous, and there were no safety nets if he failed.

 

And then there was Bill himself, but the only thing that could be said for himself right now was that he was very fucking annoyed. It was never safe for anyone when he was annoyed. His temper was...explosive, to say the least. He had gotten rid of his mask a while ago, the thick material causing him to sweat like a stuck pig, but now the cool wind kept repeatedly blowing his blonde hair back into his face. He spit once, twice, three times in a vain attempt to dislodge the strands from his mouth.

 

“If you would just put on your stupid fucking mask,” Tyrone scoffed, biting down on the pen with enough pressure to crack it, spraying ink into his mouth, “Then you could spend less time worrying about your stupid fucking hair and spend more time worrying about this stupid fucking mission.”

 

Were he not aware of the amount of stress the trainee was under, Bill would have retorted with venom on his tongue and would have put him in his place. He was already irritated and starting an argument with his protege would only serve to make his temper worsen. If this mission was to be a success, he couldn’t allow himself to lose control.

 

“And deprive you of the privilege to experience my handsome face?” Cipher grinned cheekily in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Not in a million years, Pines.”

 

This got a laugh from the other side of the cabin. Both Bill and Tyrone turned their heads to watch Ford’s shoulders bounce as he chuckled under his breath. “Handsome, my ass,” he scoffed, chucking a mask in Bill’s direction, which he barely caught before the wind would have swept it away. “Put your fucking mask back on, Galahad. Spare us.”

 

When the chuckling subsided, the tense and weighted atmosphere returned as the agents resumed their uncomfortable silence. Bill leaned forward with his head propped up in his hand and watched as Tyrone resumed folding and fiddling with the corners of his photo.

 

“Are those your little monsters?” He asked, a teasing grin on his lips.

 

“They’re called ‘children’, Bill,” Tyrone chuckled, looking down at the picture with a look of such adoration. “Although, they did just turn thirteen today, so I guess I can’t exactly call them that anymore.”

 

Bill reached out towards him with his left arm, wiggling the fingers on his hand. “Well then, let’s see ‘em.” After some moments of hesitation, Tyrone relinquished his grip on the photo, allowing Bill to get a decent look at his kids.

 

“They may be a handful sometimes, but they’re far from monsters.”

 

“They sure look like monsters to me,” Bill shuddered, carefully inspecting the picture. Two brunette twins stared back at him, their too-wide grins stretched so unnaturally large across their round, disproportionate heads. Both were missing a large strip of hair from the tops of their heads, almost as if someone had taken a full-grown man’s razor to their locks. Creepy, ugly, tiny meatsacks, that’s what they were. He returned the photo to the trainee with another overly dramatic shudder of horror. “I’m never having kids.”

 

Tyrone laughed aloud at that. “You’ll feel differently someday,” He said, carefully pocketing the picture. “I know I did.”

 

“Not fucking likely,” Bill snorted, “I enjoy swearing and sex too much to get children mixed up in my life. In fact, when we get home, I want you to drive me to the nearest urologist and get me snipped.”

 

At the mention of home, Tyrone’s amused grin fell and the silence between the four men returned. It stayed there for several minutes, like some uninvited party guest that refused to leave.

 

“Promise me you’ll keep yourself under control, Cipher,” Tyrone continued after a while, “At least long enough to cover my ass. I’d like to be able to be there to wish the twins ‘Happy Birthday’.” Bill nodded firmly, albeit hesitantly, but firmly nonetheless, clapping a hand over his friend’s knee and squeezing once.

 

“Don’t worry, kid,” He comforted, “We’ll be in and out and before you know it, you’ll be back in the States eating birthday cake with your tiny meatsacks.”

 

“I hope you’re right, Bill.”

 

“I know I’m right,” He winked, “I know lots of things, remember?”

 

Suddenly, an alarm beeped overhead, snapping the four men to attention as they stood and awaited instructions. Ford pressed a finger to his earpiece, nodding occasionally as their superiors spoke into his ear. For a moment, Bill couldn’t help but wonder which one of his fingers was the extra one.

 

“Galahad. Pines,” He relayed, pointing to the two agents and then gesturing to the open doors where two ropes had just unfurled, trailing behind the helicopter slightly in the force of the wind. “You’re up. Not a moment too soon. I don’t think I can stand another second of your incessant chatter.”

 

“Piss off, Sixer,” Bill smirked, lightly flicking where his nose would be were it not for the mask concealing his identity, before returning his attention to Tyrone. He raised his hand and cupped it around the back of his protege’s head, bringing their foreheads together. “In an out, alright?”

 

“In and out,” He agreed with a small grin.

 

“Atta boy,” Bill said softly, patting the man’s cheek twice in reassurance. Tyrone returned the gesture before crossing to the other side of the cabin and wrapping the rope around his fist twice. Bill did the same before drawing his gun from its holster and listening for the signal that would give him the go-ahead to drop.

 

“On my mark,” Ford’s voice said over his earpiece, “Three...Two...Drop! Now!”

 

With a loud whoop, Cipher jumped from the helicopter, his feet latching around the rope and slowing his descent. He felt the friction burn through his gloved hands. By the time he had reached the bottom of the rope, he could see the Blind Eye’s base just peeking out over the ridge. His heartbeat thudded in his ears and the sound of his blood surging in his veins had him licking his lips.

 

He couldn't hear Tyrone’s reminder to calm himself down before his grip on the gun’s trigger tightened and he opened fire on the first set of guards stationed outside the complex.

 

\-----

 

“This is Zero One Alpha! We have secured Blind Ivan, I repeat, we have secured Blind Ivan!”

 

Tyrone removed his fingers from the radio clipped to his shoulder before dropping to his knees at Bill’s side, not caring about what happened to Ivan, as Ford and Fiddleford were in the process of restraining him by tying his arms and legs to a chair. He did, however, care about what happened to Bill.

 

Upon entering the room, in a last ditch effort on Ivan’s part, the leader of the Blind Eye Society had opened fire with a small caliber handgun. One of the bullets managed to catch Bill in the side before they were able to subdue him.

 

“Galahad,” Tyrone gasped, helping the agent sit up, “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fucking peachy,” He hissed, clutching at his side. “Fuck me sideways that stings.” With a grunt of effort, he stood up, hobbling slightly as he did. In a few moments, the wound would heal itself and everyone in the room knew it. They also knew how angry Bill was getting. They could see it in the way his whole body shook, in his eyes as his pupils shrank to pinpricks and his irises burned white hot.

 

“Galahad,” Ford warned, finishing up with Ivan’s bonds.

 

“Yic loedsj psfs yic vwly, ufsshy eij ir w vodup!” Bill spat in code, walking up to Ivan and striking him across the face with the back of his hand. To the man’s credit, he didn’t even flinch, “Yic’fs qiojq di dsll ks apwd O psfs di pswf, if O’k qiojq di hcd w vcllsd csdassj yicf rcumojq syse!”

 

“Cipher,” Tyrone spoke up, taking a cautious step forward. Bill ignored him, instead opting to draw his pistol from its holster and bringing it up menacingly to rest the barrel between Ivan’s eyes.

 

“O’k qiojq di ucjd di dsj,” Bill continued, clicking the safety off. “Ijs, dai, dpfss…”

 

Ivan remained stoic and unemotional, his scarred up eyes betraying nothing. Bill growled, rolling his eyes and lowering his pistol so that it aimed at the man’s stomach. Two shots later had Ivan bent over at the middle, grunting as the bullets tore their way through his tissue.

 

“Cipher!” Tyrone shouted, loud enough to get his mentor’s attention, “That’s enough. Stop playing around.”

 

Bill’s pupils softened slightly, but he continued counting anyway. The sound of his voice masked the sound of a small, metallic click, and Ivan rose to proper posture once more, a grenade pin sticking out of his smug grin. He locked eyes with Bill and started laughing.

 

Fuck.

 

“Grenade!” Tyrone screeched, his call warning Ford and Fiddleford of the impending explosion. With quick feet, Ford snatched his trainee up by the waist and all but threw him to the stone archway they entered on their way in. As the older agent made his way to follow him behind the shelter of the wall, Bill rushed forward. Tyrone recognized what his mentor planned to do, and recognized his own fate as he reached forward to grab the man’s collar.

 

“Bill!” He shouted, yanking him backwards and pushing him away from Ivan, “Get back!”

 

“Tyrone!” Bill gasped, scrambling to his feet and watching with wide eyes as his protege threw himself on top of Blind Ivan. “No!”

 

He wasn’t sure if the following scream had been his own, or that of Tyrone’s as the grenade detonated beneath him, the shrapnel tearing its way through his vital organs while the fire licked at the core of his being. The muffled blast sent Bill flying backwards and for a moment, his heartbeat synched with the loud bang of the explosion.

 

The silence following the explosion was like a vacuum, deafening and suffocating. Bill sat up slowly, watching the dust settle until the sight of his friend’s limp and bloody corpse hunched over his enemy’s limp and bloody corpse came into full and shocking clarity.

 

“Fuck,” He sobbed, ripping his mask off and throwing it to the ground before running his hands over his eyes and clawing at his hair. His stupid fucking hair. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I missed it. How did I fucking miss it?”

 

He had lost control, just like he had promised he wouldn’t. And he was about to lose control again.

 

Bill barely registered the sound of footsteps as Merlin and Fiddleford made their way back into the room. He barely registered it, but he still greatly appreciated the two men keeping their distance while he inhaled and exhaled deeply, allowing himself to calm down.

 

“McGucket,” He croaked out after several minutes. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and crossed the room to the trainee. He couldn’t help but notice how the young man flinched when he drew near. Damnit. He really screwed up this time. “You’re training is over.” Looking over at Ford, Bill nodded, stepping back and allowing the trainee’s mentor to approach him with his hand raised waist high. With no hesitation, the agent grabbed his protege’s hand and firmly shook it.

 

“Welcome to Kingsman,” Ford congratulated softly, “Lancelot.”

 

“Th-thank you, sir!” Fiddleford thanked breathlessly, still shaken up over the event that was responsible for how he had come to acquire his new position.

 

The three men looked towards their fallen teammate, crestfallen expressions worn standardly, just like their uniforms. Bill observed with bated breath, waiting for something. A blink, a puff of breath, a rise and fall of his chest - anything that would have indicated that Tyrone Pines was still alive and well. But nothing came. The young man remained unnaturally still, blood trickling from the corner of his pale lips, and were it not for his eyes, still open and glazed over, he might have looked peacefully and blissfully asleep.

 

“I’ll take care of this mess, personally.”

 

\-----

 

The wheels on his car squeaked as he slowed to a halt outside the Pines residence. Bill inhaled deeply, mentally and physically preparing himself for the task at hand. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to this. It was common occurrence for him to be the bearer of bad news to his fallen companions’ families, but this time was different. This time, he wasn’t just informing a widow that her husband had died protecting his team.

 

He was informing a widow that his friend had died because he had failed.

 

That cut him deeper than any knife that had been used against him in all of his years as a Kingsman agent.

 

He looked up at his rearview mirror, where a familiar picture of two creepy, ugly, tiny meatsacks smiled back at him, smiled back at the man who would get their father killed one day. By some miracle, the picture had remained relatively unharmed by the blast, only singed slightly at the edges. When Bill had seen the picture poking out of Tyrone’s shirt pocket, he’d immediately snatched it away before the medical examiner could get his hands on it. He didn’t know why he did it. At the time, maybe he considered returning it to the family as a final favor to his fallen friend, but now, he had selfish reasons.

 

He wanted to keep it for himself.

 

Why? Who knows. Perhaps he regarded it as a memento, a keepsake. Or perhaps it would serve to be a reminder the next time he was allowed in the field. Whatever the reason, Bill carefully folded the photo in half and tucked it safely away inside his shirt pocket.

 

No one had to know.

 

\-----

 

Ding. Ding.

 

Thirteen year old Dipper Pines’ eyes fluttered open, sleep making them stick together. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and sighing as his spine popped several times. He looked to his left. His alarm clock declared the time in an offensively bright blue glow.

 

3:54 a.m.

 

The unmistakable ring of the doorbell that had so rudely awoken him at such an ungodly hour turned into the familiar slow creaking of the front door opening. Dipper heard the shadow of a voice that his recognized immediately as his mother’s, followed by another voice that was clearly male.

 

The front door clicked shut and the sound of two sets of footsteps muffled by the carpet told him that his mother had let the stranger inside.

 

“Dipper?”

 

The boy quickly raised his index finger to press against his lips, warning his twin sister, Mabel, to remain silent. She brought his own hand to her mouth, pretending to zip it closed. After a few moments pause, Dipper snatched his hat off of the bedside table and kicked his legs over the side of his bed, tiptoeing into the hallway. He waved his arm to get Mabel to follow him. Their socks muted the sound of their footsteps as they snuck down the hallway towards the living room, where the voices had migrated to.

 

The two twins poked their heads around the corner, watching with rapt attention at the scene before them.

 

There stood their mother, hair a mess and wrapped up in her fluffy pink robe, one arm wrapped around her own torso and the other raised to cover her mouth as quiet sobs made her shoulders quake. Before her stood a tall, blonde man in a black suit that the twins had only heard about from their father’s stories of work.

Suddenly, Dipper understood what was going on. There was only one reason Bill Cipher would be standing in their living room. Quiet tears pricked the corners of his eyes and one fell down the side of his face, tracing his cheek.

 

“What’s going on, Mason?” Mabel asked, but the hiccup in her voice revealed that she had full knowledge of what was happening. It was less painful to pretend, though.

 

“I-I don’t know,” Dipper lied, brushing the tear from his face. His throat was starting to burn with the force of holding in his grief. He always knew there was a possibility of this happening. He had mentally prepared himself for it every time his dad went away on a mission. Why did it still hurt so much?

 

The high-pitched clap of an open palm colliding with a cheek cut through the silence. Bill’s head snapped to the right while Mrs. Pines stood with her fists shaking and a defiant look of faux bravery on her face. He kneaded his jaw while reaching inside his coat, withdrawing something Dipper couldn’t recognize from their distance, but he saw it gleam slightly in the low light. Bill’s lips moved, but Mrs. Pines was unwilling to hear whatever it was he had to say.

 

“Get out of my house!” She barked suddenly, pointing with a firm arm towards the door. Dipper and Mabel drew back into the hallway, silently praying that they hadn’t been spotted by their mother. They could sneak back to bed now and keep on pretending nothing was wrong for a few more hours.

 

Obviously the Fates had a different plan as they directed Bill Cipher right to the twin’s hiding spot. He looked down at them and they looked up at him, three people linked by the same unfortunate occurrence. He took in their faces, the way the girl’s was obviously contorted and puffy; the way the boy’s grief was more subtle, marked only by singular tear tracks.

 

“You know,” Bill said eventually, “It’s not very polite to eavesdrop.”

 

With an offended gasp, Mabel responded by drawing back her foot and kicking it into the man’s shin. He winced slightly as she ran past him, intentionally bumping into his side before throwing herself into her mother’s arms, sobbing loudly into her shoulder. Returning his attention to the other twin, Bill clapped a hand over his shoulder and guided him further into the hallway, away from his mother’s prying eyes.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Dipper apologized quickly as he was led away, both for Mabel’s actions and for their unintentional act of espionage. Bill shook his head slightly, kneeling down to come eye-to-eye with the teenager.

 

“You two didn’t let me finish,” He chuckled lightly, resting his arms on top of his knees, “It’s rude to eavesdrop, kid, but I gotta hand it to you. You’ve got quite a talent for it. I didn’t even realize you were there.” He clicked his tongue and winked in good nature. Dipper felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

 

“Thank you?” He responded, his voice cracking in his confusion at the strange compliment.

 

“What’s your name, kid?”

 

“Dipper.”

 

“Hello, Dipper,” Bill greeted, smiling slightly. God, did the kid look like his father. His gaze flickered over the boy, taking in his appearance from the bandages that covered his knees in a thick coating of faux armor, to the t-shirt that hung loosely on his wiry frame and finally resting on the baseball cap that held down his brown locks. The star that decorated the front of it seemed out of place. He pointed at it. “Do you mind if I see that for a minute?”

 

Dipper nodded slowly, reaching up and grabbing the bill of his hat. He flipped it off of his head and his wild locks bounced free, reaching in several directions. He didn't miss the faint chuckle that escaped Bill’s mouth, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. Blushing in embarrassment, he handed the old hat over.

 

Bill took it in hand, observing it for several moments before raking his hand over the front of it, almost like he was wiping away the star on the front. Which, essentially, was what he was doing. It wasn’t much, but he found a little bit of magic could often help lift one’s spirits. Pulling his hand away, he grinned at the new design.

 

“What’s so funny?” Dipper asked, craning his neck to see what Bill had done with his hat. He flipped it around for the boy to see. The star had been replaced with a blue pine tree. His brown eyes widened in amazement. Bill reached out and ruffled his messy hair before plopping the modified hat back onto his head.

 

“Pine Tree,” He whispered, almost reverently.

 

“How did you do that?”

 

Bill tsked, cupping the boy’s cheek and waggling his finger. “A true magician never reveals his secrets.” With that, he removed his hand from the boy’s face. When he pulled back, he held a triangular shaped medal in his hand. Dipper recognized it as the object he had attempted to give his mother several minutes ago.

 

“Dipper Pines,” Bill spoke quietly, gripping Dipper’s wrist softly and placing the medal in his hand. “This is a Medal of Valor for your father’s bravery. If you look on the back, there’s a number. I want you to promise me that if you or your family need anything, anything at all, you will call this number.” He paused, waiting for the teen to nod slowly in understanding. Satisfied, he continued, “Just tell the operator, ‘Yroo Xrksvi Girzmtov’. That’s how I’ll know it’s you.” He wrapped Dipper’s fingers around the medal. “Please take care for this for me, Dipper. And take care of your mom and sister. You’re the man of the house now. They’ll need you now more than ever.”

 

At the close of Bill’s speech, Dipper felt the tears well back up into his eyes. Only this time he allowed them to flow. Oh God, it really was real. His dad was really dead. He hiccupped, biting his lower lip as his vision blurred. With a cry, he leapt forward, wrapping his spindly arms around Bill’s neck, hugging him and staining his suit coat with salty tears. Bill couldn’t care less as he returned the embrace with little hesitation. His fingers dug bluntly into the boy’s back and they both buried their faces into each other’s shoulders.

 

For a moment, it wasn’t clear who was comforting who.

 

Dipper pulled back, wiping at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Bill smiled, gently patting his cheek twice as he stood. A loud sniffle from the living room caught their attention and Bill nodded towards the noise.

 

“Go on,” He coaxed. Dipper nodded once before spinning on his heel and running towards his mother and twin. He quickly threw his arms around them, holding them both close and tight to him. Mabel buried her face into his chest and his mother rested her forehead on top of his. Turning his face, Dipper looked back towards Bill, who already had one foot out the door. The man was staring back at him and for a split second that lasted an eternity, their eyes locked, blue meeting brown.

 

Then Bill pulled the door closed behind him, severing the connection. He shivered despite the warm, late summer heat surrounding him. He could still feel the kid’s eyes boring into the back of his skull as he began the long walk back to his car.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify:
> 
> Bill Cipher is Galahad  
> Stanford Pines is Merlin  
> Fiddleford McGucket is Lancelot
> 
> \-----
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you spot any spelling/grammar errors, please let me know and I'll gladly fix them.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! If you didn't, let me know what I did wrong and I'll try to correct the problem next time.


End file.
